Time I'll Never Know
by satan-chillin
Summary: At the end of the world, it's just Sam and Rowena. Two witches and a spell to bring them back in time.
1. End of the Line

"Are you afraid?"

_Yes_, Sam thinks. He should be. It's do or die, and both of which have consequences that Sam can't fathom yet. They die here and so is everything else. They do it successfully, then…

"No," he hears himself say. "I'm not afraid." Not really. Sam's completely past the fear, and there's something fascinating and terrifying in discovering that what lays beyond the fright is an absolute sense of clarity.

Rowena smiles up at him with pride. "That's my boy," she says, echoing her words back then in the mausoleum, except this time there are no tears between them, only weariness and the acceptance of their fate.

Sam leans to her touch when she cradles his face. He closes his eyes and leans down to join his forehead to hers.

Rowena sighs wistfully, tilting her head to rest on the side of his cheek. They're not quite kissing, but it's equally as intimate as one. Sam savors the moment knowing he might not have this again. Maybe never.

Looking back where they began, they've come a long way, didn't they?

"It's time," she says, and it's as if the spell is broken.

Their fingers twine together and the words flow easily. It's melodic and thunderous, their combined chanting, like a huge crashing wave against the disastrous cacophony outside.

The magic expands from Sam and Rowena, and it's enough to encompass their whole surroundings and protect them both from the falling debris. It's not enough, however, to stop the quaking of the ground.

Their incantation halts and the bowl sizzles and spills a bright otherworldly light that wraps the two witches in a blinding glow. Sam's hold tightens, and Rowena holds on and grips him just as tight.

Sam swallows. "Rowena—"

Rowena's lips quiver. "Sam—"

The world crumbles, and the destruction misses the last two people left on Earth.

* * *

Sam wakes.

He wakes to a distantly familiar motel room, less disorientated that he thought he would be. The fact that he's staring at an intact ceiling means the spell worked.

As to the extent of it, he's not sure.

There was no premeditated time set when they worked on the spell because anywhere and any time aside from the one they left is better.

Turning to his right, Sam gets his answer as to what point in time he's in. It's pretty ironic and funny that what escapes him is a sigh of relief when he sees who it is.

It's Ruby in all her naked glory.

Sam can't believe he's saying this, but—it's better than he hoped. He's right exactly where it's most preferable, the time where the first Apocalypse is nigh. The possibilities alone send his mind reeling.

All the changes he can make, the incidents he can stop, the deaths he can avoid… the people he can save.

Ruby groans in her sleep and shifts. She looks peaceful like this, and Sam remembers wondering before whether she's truly capable of sleep. He recalls being unable to shut his eyes properly because it's one thing to bed a demon but to fall asleep next to one is another.

Looking at her now, with her mussed-up dark hair that paints the sheets in striking contrast, Sam wants nothing but to card and smooth her mane down. Sam pulls the sheets to cover her, and he pities the woman within. Over the years, it was no longer often that he stopped to think of the poor person being possessed, and if Sam was right, the last that he and his brother truly cared about was Meg Masters.

The longer he stares down at Ruby, the more his past repressed memories return: he cared for this demon before and thought that she held the same affections. Sam was naïve to think that love was possible to grow between a hunter with cursed blood and a female demon gone rogue. He was stupid to think that Ruby would betray her nature for him.

Sam gingerly touches Ruby's head, and he fights off the urge to crush her lovely skull.

He smiles at her when her eyes flutter open. She smirks at him like she knows what he was doing, like Sam is where exactly she wants him to be.

"Aren't you early?" Ruby purrs, stretching and twisting to expose her full breasts. "Hungry?"

What she's offering aside from her blood isn't lost on Sam, and he humors her by raking his eyes over her form. Her meatsuit is pretty, he'll give her that, yet it sparks nothing but nausea in him, a kind of sickness dug up from a long-forgotten pit.

"Not today," Sam says with a shake of his head before standing up. He doesn't have to look at how Ruby frowns at his decline.

Sam turns his back at her to check his phone, and the current date makes him stop.

September 18, 2008.

Suddenly, he's seized with a torrent of emotions that should be enough to crumple him down.

Sam is back to the day when Dean was pulled by Cas from Hell, and the reaction is apt for the date, he supposes, except to him, it'll be seeing his brother and his best friend who's like another brother, alive and well.

To them, Dean has only died once. To them, Cas will be just another angel with the task to bring the Apocalypse to fruition.

To Sam, Dean already died on him numerous times. To Sam, Cas is more than an agent of Heaven.

In any other situation, Sam would have broken down in relief and guilt. But now, with Ruby around, he allows himself a moment to compose himself and breathe.

"Sam?" he hears Ruby say with faux concern, apparently not missing his reaction completely. "Is everything ok?"

Sam runs his hands through his still short hair and gives a shaky smile. "It's nothing."

Ruby crosses her arms when she stands in front of him—she knows better than to position herself behind him. "It's not _nothing_, Sam. You're shaking." She purses her lips then sighs. "I knew it. You need it right now."

Sam actually chuckles at her unsubtlety. "You don't know what I need, Ruby, and if you do, I doubt you can give it."

Ruby snorts at that. "Pretty sure the last few months are proof that I _know _what you need, Sam."

She took that as an insult. Sam hums in satisfaction. Good. "I guess you do. So if you can give me Lilith's location right now, that'll be great."

Ruby shrugs and raises her hands in mock surrender. "Now you're being petty."

Sam sits down on the bed with all the nonchalance he can muster. "The thing is, I'm not."

She sighs at him tiredly but situates herself down in a kneel between his legs, looking up at him with her big doe eyes. "I get it. You think we're not making any progress in finding Lilith," she says, planting her arms atop his knees. "But trust me when I say that we are. At least, _you_ do. You've been taking the blood better and better each time." She strokes the sides of his thighs. "In another month or so, Lilith will be done by you as quick as a snap of your fingers." She reaches out to his face tenderly. "You're a talented man, Sam," her mouth purses into a mischievous smile, "in more ways than one."

With a different perspective, Sam can see it clearly now how Ruby got in his head: she played him like a fiddle with gentle touches and sweet words befitting of a faithful lover, and she accepted and encouraged that darkness in Sam and made him feel loved and special for it. The young him craved that acceptance the same way he craved the demon blood.

In the end, she's right. She did know what he needed.

Sam pries himself from her fingers that find the zipper of his pants. The girl inside Ruby has already endured enough, and pleasuring him isn't going to be another one that she has to. Not anymore.

"What is it again, Sam?" she sounds so exasperated after his second avoidance. "If we're having foreplay with you playing as hard-to-get, then please tell me now."

Sam ignores her. "Again, I ask, where's Lilith?"

There's anger that flashes across her face that is gone instantly, replaced by what seems to be sympathy and an expression that brims of understanding. "Sam—"

"No," he interrupts sharply. "You know where she is because you've been working for her since the beginning. Lilith's loyal lapdog, that's what you are. You don't care that the entirety of Hell thinks you defected because that was a direct order from your boss."

Ruby, to her credit, remains firmly on the spot as Sam advances to her threateningly. She looks like a deer caught in headlights, her meatsuit's face pales. "What—"

"Oh, I know the whole story, Ruby, so before you think you can feed me the same bullshit twice, think again."

"You're insane!" Ruby exclaims, taking some steps back from him. "Are you hearing yourself, Sam? Me an agent of Lilith?" She's a good actress, and the laugh she gives indeed sounds as if she thinks the idea is absurd. It's the eyes that betray her, the way her gaze shifts uneasily past Sam to locate a hasty escape.

"But you are, aren't you?" Sam tells her calmly. "Sent out by Lilith to manipulate Lucifer's true vessel into getting addicted to demon blood, set him to the path of revenge against the First Demon in order to break the seal and free Lucifer."

Ruby's eyes widen and swallowing with what seems to be nervousness when she hits the wall unarmed and Sam crowding her. "H-How—Where did you even hear this nonsense?!"

Sam slams his fist next to her head, and she jolts and fuck if that doesn't feel satisfying to Sam. "It's not nonsense, Ruby. I know what's going on. If you admit the truth, I'll be merciful and grant you a quick death. If not…"

The threat hangs oppressively, and Sam knows the point is delivered. He's not fooling around, and the faster he gets on with this problem, the better.

Ruby's eyes search him for a telling lie, and when she finds none, she breaks down in a fit of a disturbing laugh. She doubles over and her head snaps, eyes completely dark when she hisses at Sam before lunging to him.

Sam's back collides with the mattress, and on top of him is Ruby straddling his chest with inhuman strength. She has her knife pressed firmly against his neck, held firm by her strong grip.

"Well, look who discovered the dirty little secret of the lifetime," Ruby croons above him. "We're doing so great, Sam, but you just have to ruin it. So, Sammy, how did you come by with this knowledge?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Sam taunts. Ruby can hurt him, but she'll never kill him, not when he's the key to Lilith's death. "Why don't you look, Ruby?"

Her black eyes cloud momentarily. Sam doesn't fight back, doesn't struggle. Let her see. Let her see the ugliness of his soul and the pit it turned into after her hard work to the young Sam Winchester.

And Ruby sees. What a sight it must be if it can make a demon, a corrupted soul itself, gasp in disbelief.

Sam takes the millisecond hesitance to push her off of him. She hits the wall with a crash, her knife slipping from her. Sam's fifty-fifty whether it'll work, but he's strike with inspiration and holds out his palm.

While the effect of his young self's previous consumption is waning, Sam can still feel the weight of power. It's underneath his skin, and Sam will be lying if he says he doesn't miss the familiar rush in his blood, the want to unleash and cause pain to those who deserve his punishment.

Pinned and defenseless in place, Ruby is afraid of what comes next, but amidst her terror is a twisted pride that she'll die by the hands of something she _made _and painstakingly strengthened.

"Go on, Sam. Kill me."

_Kill me with your mind. Kill me with the power I honed._

Sam refuses to give her the satisfaction.

The force he's exerting with his mind slackens its hold on Ruby, but Sam doesn't put down his hand down. He makes a split-second decision and out tumbles the words:

"_Defigire et depurgare._"

It's not quite the same without a hex bag, and while Sam is still light years away from Rowena's league in terms of witchcraft, with his current psychic abilities, he gets the same desired effect. Sam revels at the look of surprise on Ruby's face before she convulses, clutching her abdomen as she coughs up her true form in heaps of black filth.

"What—What is this?!" she hisses and coughs, sending Sam a murderous glare that can send a lesser man to death.

"You were a witch. Should be familiar to you," he says idly, watching Ruby being destroyed from within. "Learned a trick or two."

Ruby falls on her knees, scratching at her neck, chest, and stomach. Sam stands there with an odd detachment as she writhes on the floor, convulsing and letting out choking noises in an attempt to speak and curse at Sam.

Sam doesn't move until she dies on the pool of black sludge that used to be Ruby's demon form. Her face will be forever frozen in fear and a question of:

_Who are you?_

It's just as well that she died not knowing.

* * *

By the time Dean and Bobby knock on the door, Sam is sitting on the bed as if nothing happened, as if he did not kill and burned Ruby's dead meatsuit with a contained fire.

He's ready when he sees Dean, young and less burdened than Sam saw him last. Sam notes the mild bewilderment that crosses Bobby when Sam doesn't question or doubt Dean's sudden presence when he should have been dead_ and_ in Hell. He embraces Dean so tight because _damnit _it's his brother that he saw die multiple times in a span of a decade and a half, and his last memory of him is his permanent death.

And Bobby, _their_ Bobby—

Sam embraces him too because it was eight years for Sam and six years the last time he heard Bobby's voice. Sam disrupted Bobby's peace upstairs, and he doesn't get to know what happened with Bobby after.

Bobby is one of the many he can save, and Sam will make sure he'll stop his death.

"Woah, hey, Sammy—Are you—"

Sam reluctantly lets them go and distances himself before he can break down and cry. "Sorry. Just… Sorry. Give me a moment." They think he's overwhelmed with emotion at Dean's sudden return, and fuck it, they're not wrong.

"Look, not that I want to break the happy reunion, but," Bobby begins hesitantly when a few good considerable minutes pass by. Something shifts in Dean's face and morphs into concern and a twinge of disappointment. "How did you do it, Sam?"

"Do what?"

"What did it cost, Sam?" Dean asks heavily, back straight against the wall. "What did it cost to bring me back?"

To bring _himself_ back to this time, everything.

Sam remembers vaguely this line of questioning, and he's calmer when he answers. "I'm not the one who brought you back, Dean," he says evenly.

"Why don't I believe you?" Dean tells him, and Sam acknowledges that his brother is a little ashamed of himself to say that. "So I just rise up from the dead, from _Hell_, all by myself? Sam, tell me now what you did. We can fix it. Whatever deal you made, we can take it back."

Sam believes that, and he wants to say badly that Dean already emerged from things that are worse than Hell.

Until it was the end of the world and Dean left him for good.

"I did not make a deal with a demon either," Sam says with a sigh. "But I might know who did." He rubs his face. "Ruby told me."

"Ruby? She's alive?" Dean's face is clouded with growing anger. "And let me guess, you're working with her too after I died."

"I was," Sam admitted. "Until this morning. I killed her, Dean, because it turned out that she was under Lilith's command all along. She wasn't helping me to look for Lilith; she was cultivating me per Lilith's orders."

There's a lot to unpack there so Sam doesn't dare to look at Dean and Bobby's reactions, continuing, "You're gonna hate me for this, but I'd rather you find it out now: I've been drinking demon blood, most of the time Ruby's. It helps with the psychic abilities up to the point where I can send a demon back to Hell and save the person inside." Sam smiles ruefully. "I liked it, the feeling that I can help save them more than just ganking the demon that rode them."

Sam lets the silence sit afterward. No doubt that Dean's presently judging him now while Bobby is reserving his until Sam spills out the full story. He recalls Dean thinking of him a different level of freak when he found out that Sam has demon blood in his veins. Sam isn't under the illusion that it'll be different this time.

He doesn't hear Dean move to the other side of the bed to slump down like he's bearing all the weight of the world.

"Why?" Dean simply asks hoarsely.

"Why what?"

Bobby grunts. "I think what your brother means to ask specifically is why's Lilith going through the trouble of," he gestures at Sam, uncertain how to address it, "making you stronger."

Sam only has one word to sum it all up for them. "Apocalypse."

* * *

The ride to Bobby's place is quiet, and Sam doesn't expect it to be anything else.

Sam told them everything, at least what classifies as _everything _in this certain phase of their lives. And while Dean is understandably distracted, it's probably not a good idea to let him drive with his mind still processing all that information.

Not that Sam regrets unloading it all at once because secrets have been their bane. It's about time that they work on that even if it means Sam has to do it first.

Even if it means Dean will stop talking to him altogether.

Sam spares Dean a sidelong glance. It's his brother but not quite the same. This Dean hasn't been through what the future Dean had been. It'll be a long journey for his brother, but Sam will be there to see Dean through.

He's far from expecting that nothing will change from before—that's what he's trying to remedy in the first place—though admittedly, it's as saddening to be solitary in the past where Sam's presence alone can make or break the outcome.

Except, he's not really alone in the past, isn't he? Theoretically, if Sam was chucked back to 2008, Rowena should be sent back to this year as well.

Sam wonders where she is right now. Does she think where he is right now too? Is she alright? What could she be doing as of this moment?

He wants to know what was it that she was about to say before the spell threw them back in time, separated, and he thinks back as to what he was meaning to say to her.

Sam smiles regretfully to himself when he remembers and thinks that he should have been quicker and bolder to say it a little earlier.

_Next time,_ he thinks, _next time we meet_.

On the passenger seat, Sam falls asleep, holding on to that promise.

* * *

**tbc**


	2. Credence

The prayer that beckons him is a surprise.

Castiel listens to the voice calling his name, and he thinks… he thinks he knows whose voice it is. Only when he flies to the source of the prayer does he confirm who has been seeking him.

It's Sam Winchester, the brother of the Righteous Man, the boy with the demon blood. Castiel knows him by name and by face, and Sam Winchester has the reputation that precedes him. But the moment Castiel, unseen, lays his eyes on this young man, he's treated to a sight he doesn't expect that catches him off guard.

A soul tainted with swirls of both celestial and infernal influences greets Castiel instead of the pure brightness he expects to come from a young human who's far from sinful to have his soul tarnished in such a way. It was as if it got dragged across Hell, broken down to pieces, and pieced together haphazardly without care.

Castiel notices the chipped section of Sam's soul that contains something else that feels different—familiar but old, older than him. Almost as old as…

"I know you're there, Cas."

Startled, Castiel realizes that he's the 'Cas' Sam spoke of. He reveals himself, perplexed as to how the human could have known. Sam looks up at him immediately from his supplication. He's smiling at Castiel with a kind of softness that he often sees on humans when they're happy or with someone like a family or a friend. The angel doesn't understand what warrants the fondness he finds directed at him and for once in his long life, Castiel's mind brims with questions upon questions that have no answers.

He settles for the simplest one. "Who are you?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester," Sam says with a touch of dismay. "Dean's younger brother." He notices Castiel squinting his eyes, unconvinced. "But you already know me, don't you?"

"Yes," Castiel says without hesitation. He approaches Sam carefully, intrigued and suspicious altogether. "Though I don't know how you know me. You know what I am for you know how to call me. The better question is, what are you?"

Sam stares at him for a moment before answering, "I _am _Sam Winchester." He places a palm on his chest. "So you saw it too. My soul. It's no longer what it was, but I'm still a human as far as I know. Just went through the wringer, I guess." He smiles ruefully.

Castiel frowns at the choice of words but doesn't question the colloquialism lost to him. "That's impossible," he hears himself say. "What you're telling me is impossible to happen to you yet."

He cocks his head and pauses.

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "Not yet." He stands and moves towards Castiel until they're at arm's reach. He trails his fingers over his own temple. "I trust you with my life, Cas, because I know what you'll become. I definitely trust you with these as well."

Sam's soul is weary and worn. He's tempered by time and the life he has already lived through. Castiel is no stranger to time travel and has ridden the flow of time himself a couple of times. For a human to ride the stream of time is something else, and Castiel cannot fathom what could drive Sam to desperation that redoing his years is the only option left for him.

With some careful consideration, Castiel gingerly touches Sam's forehead and searches his mind.

There are several images all at once, and Castiel easily picks the oldest memory Sam wants to show him: two young brothers spending the night alone without adult supervision, left on their devices at some derelict lodging while their father hunts through the state for any lead on Azazel. The older of the two boys took care of the younger one, and he grew up quickly that way. It was Dean Winchester, and what should have been his childhood was practically nonexistent. He was a hunter at a young age, tagged along with their father by his adolescent years, and he adjusted with ease at the fast-paced lifestyle hunters seemed to have. He was happy to follow his father's steps and principles, but unlike his father, he was warm towards his younger brother and wasn't eager to lead Sam to the same life, which was why Dean was supportive when Sam decided to leave and pursue a different future albeit it meant separation from the family.

Castiel sees a woman with blonde curls. The images of her smiling face occupied most of Sam's early memories of his respite from hunting. She was a dear person to Sam, and her death by the hands of Azazel's agent changed something in him, like a little dim in a bright shine of hope and optimism. Her death spurred him back to his life on the road and reunited Sam with his brother Dean. She was part of Azazel's machinations, yet her passing still left a raw wound that only closed when Azazel was finally killed.

There's a brief period of nothingness, and Castiel recognizes it as Sam's death for a short while. It was the catalyst of Dean Winchester's death and his ticket to Hell. Castiel doesn't linger, though for an immortal, admittedly, there's something oddly and morbidly fascinating in that memory.

Sam Winchester returned to life without remembering death, and he continued life as it was until he found out about the deal his brother made, and it took an effort from Sam not to do the same, all the while reigning in Dean's recklessness born from the knowledge that he would only have a year. Sam desperately searched for answers that in the end all for naught when Dean was torn by Hellhounds in front of him.

Sam was on the path of vengeance and darkness following Dean's death. Sam allowed himself to be lured by the wiles of a female demon who encouraged his abilities and strengthened them with her own demon blood. Castiel is familiar with this, and he hears as well that Sam eliminated the stain recently when his mind became clear from her manipulations.

That's why Castiel is surprised when a different scenario plays out in Sam's memories, and from then on differs.

In the memory, Sam continued with the consumption of demon blood. He grew to love the demon, and she used it against him. In the end, she was able to push him to kill Lilith, thus breaking the last seal and freeing Lucifer.

Castiel was there, and Sam was reverent the first time he encountered him. Castiel was formal towards him, the same way he was with Dean Winchester who couldn't show him respect, but the other angels were more unsympathetic; Uriel, for example. Castiel acknowledged Uriel as a fellow, though they never did see eye to eye, and that apparently came to a head in the timeline Sam came from.

Castiel noted that he became an angel that was perched on the brothers' shoulders despite Sam's memory of him saying otherwise. Castiel watches as his presence became more and more prominent in Sam's memories. He grew close to them, and he was their companion. They acclimated him to the ways of humans, and it took Castiel a while to get a grasp on them. It was Dean Winchester who wanted to change him, and it was Sam who supported that endeavor. They took him in as a friend. Like a brother of theirs.

The Castiel that Sam knew had been with them through thick and thin, and Castiel should be alarmed at the catastrophic events he saw in Sam's mind that would come to pass, though it was intriguing how these changed him, turned him to something different. From an angel to a human, to a fallen angel and to a father of a son that wasn't his by blood and was Lucifer's even. This Castiel had been Lucifer's vessel and the Leviathans', and he was mourned when he died a few times.

This Castiel grew to love and to care for more than his duties as an angel of the Lord. Castiel doesn't understand this now, but he doesn't find them repulsive. He feels a surge of admiration for the Castiel that he can become as, and he wonders if this is the set plan for him or merely a possibility now unattainable after Sam decides to go back in time with the knowledge of his former future.

And Castiel dares to look at what urged this Sam Winchester to return to this time.

It has been quite a while but Castiel recognizes without difficulty who it is.

It's _Him. _His father, the Lord. _God_.

God became vindictive and rained his wrath on his creation that he used to love so dearly. He was too angry that he did not hesitate to left the universe to ruin. He _dies_, and with him, the world wastes away in slow ebbing that witnessing it firsthand is the cruelest form of torture a human could endure.

But it was not even the most ruthless punishment Sam witnessed. Sam watched Dean and Castiel die more than once before, had witnessed them turn into their worst selves; Dean as a demon and someone who bore the Mark of Cain. It was never easy for Sam, and it was no easier for him once they died permanently. Sam's family died on him, and he bore the scars of their deaths throughout time.

Castiel is limited in his knowledge and understanding of human emotions, though he acknowledges that the Sam he's seeing right now is a man at the last shred of his hope to fix everything. In the end, it was just Sam and a woman who brought themselves back to the past. She was in most of Sam's last memories of his time, and she reeked of magic that no human couldn't have handled but—

Castiel holds back his judgment. For a human, Sam Winchester shouldn't be walking about after his experience in Hell, with his time inside the Cage and the length his soul was left there at the mercy of Lucifer and Michael. Sam had Lucifer in him, had walked soulless for quite a few months, had been ridden unknowingly by a rogue angel, and had shared a metaphysical connection with God.

Tenacity is the first word Castiel associates with humans upon his first contact with them, and here are the Winchesters who are a testament of that quality.

Once Castiel pulls himself from Sam's mind, he's a little discomposed, and in his eyes, it's no longer the Sam Winchester, the younger brother of the Righteous Man.

To Castiel, he's simply Sam Winchester, a survivor of an unfortunate future that lies ahead.

"Why did you show them?" he asks. It seems pertinent that he does.

"As I said," Sam begins evenly. "I trust you."

Castiel is puzzled how Sam can place his faith on him easily—he is not Sam's Castiel, not yet or maybe _never _will be—but Sam stands there without losing his composure after Castiel muddles through his vast memories at the risk of opening those that Sam is keeping behind measly, dilapidated walls.

"You giving me this knowledge of a possible future already impacts the present," Castiel reasons. "You can change the future, yes, but now you can't be sure if it's for better or for worse."

He's tempted to tap on Sam's mind once more and erase his memories of the past. It'll be quick, easy, painless, and less complicated for Sam and the world itself. Time is a fickle thing, and no human should have this kind of foreknowledge with the intention of altering time.

"Exactly. You know the repercussions I can make. I need you to help me avoid some of them, Cas, and you're the only person I trust enough to have a clear mind to hold me back if it becomes worse for all."

Castiel stills his hands and decides that he wants to know what Sam is planning.

It's only by the end of the night does Castiel finds himself shaking the hand of Sam Winchester. He has not chosen his side, not _yet_, not when the opposition involves his Father and Castiel has plenty of questions regarding Him as well.

But for now, he's a confidant of Sam Winchester, and if there's one thing Castiel is certain of, it's that he doesn't want to break the confidence this young man places on him.

* * *

Sam calls him once more the following day, not to speak of the future he comes from, but to ask him to ride with him in a vehicle.

Confused, Castiel allows himself to slip beside Sam Winchester, the music playing during the duration of the ride that Castiel can make in a split-second with a snap of his fingers.

Sam knows Castiel can do so, and while he doesn't forbid him, the company of Sam's silence is pleasant enough for Castiel to endure half of the hour.

The location is another nondescript motel, and when Sam knocks on the third door with Castiel in tow, the person who answers is the Righteous Man.

"Where did you—" Dean Winchester starts with irritation and relief crossing his features when he sees Sam. His gaze lands on Castiel suspiciously. "Who's this?"

Castiel opens his mouth to speak despite the brisk and rude tone, but Sam beats him to it, pushing the two of them inside the room.

"We need to talk," Sam says once inside. He addresses his brother first. "I told you I knew who pulled you out of Hell. Well, here he is."

Dean Winchester stares between his brother and Castiel, gaping slightly in disbelief. "You—Okay. First, you just go missing without a text or a call, then you're telling me I'm saved by a tax accountant. Great. Just great."

"I am not a tax accountant," Castiel insists. Jimmy Novak is far from a tax accountant either. "I am Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."

It's strangely satisfying, Castiel realizes, that it's what it merely takes to shut the Righteous Man up.

* * *

**tbc**


	3. Come A-knocking

Dean stares at the guy and, nope, this one isn't joking.

This stranger in a trench coat just called himself an angel of the Lord.

"Okay, buddy, I don't know from what ditch behind a bar Sam picked you from and frankly, I don't care," Dean says, raising his arms in surrender He turns to Sam, unimpressed, and says, "If this is payback for that—"

"Dean, no. This isn't payback or anything. I know you; you're probably thinking of drawing Cas out like luring some kind of creature out in the open. You want a straight answer, then here he is," Sam argues.

"_Cas_. Oh, so you're first name basis now with this—this guy." Dean gestures vaguely at Castiel who merely watches the two of them back and forth and frowns.

"I do not have family name. 'Cas' is a shortened version of my name, I believe," Castiel says as if that's the point here. "But if it's family name that you wish to know, Jimmy uses the name Novak."

"Wha—Who the hell is Jimmy?"

"The name of the vessel I'm using."

"You're possessing someone?" Dean asks incredulously, furiously. "Don't feed me the crap about you being an angel because you're obviously a fucking demon!"

"No. It doesn't work the same way with demons. Jimmy is a devout man who prayed for this, and he had to give his consent in order for me to use him," Castiel explains. "That's how it is with us angels in order for us to walk here on earth."

"You know what, why don't you zip it, buddy? See, my brother and I clearly have something to talk about between us. So wherever he picked your drunken ass from, you can go back to it and forget this shit happened."

Castiel tilts his head at Dean and squints at him eerily. It's the only sign of expression Dean sees in him so far, and it's a tad disconcerting.

"He doesn't believe me," Castiel says to Sam. "Your brother doesn't believe I am an angel of the Lord who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition."

Dean wants to smack Sam for looking amused at Castiel's statement. "Sorry about that. Dean here is more of a 'show don't tell' kind of guy. You'll get used to it. Trust me."

Castiel considers it for a moment before he steps back and there's a sound of crashing thunder right outside the motel in the middle of a clear day. Dean jolts at the sudden noise while Sam merely sits down the bed like he's waiting for the great revelation to unfold. The room dims to total darkness until the light flashes and Dean can make out the large shadows of what appear to be wings extending from wall to wall.

The image is gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Cool," Dean hears Sam mutter under his breath as the room returns to its natural state.

"What the hell."

"Those are my wings," Castiel confirms. "I would have shown you my true form, but it is not for the eyes of humans for it can burn your eyesight. It is also the size of your Chrysler Building."

Dean's terribly confused and overtaxed brain trying to comprehend the last few minutes primarily registers the sentence as an innuendo. Dean is so not having this conversation.

"Oh, god."

"He is my father, yes," Castiel says. Dean is tempted to look back at Sam but doesn't deign himself to for fear that he'll find Sam laughing behind him.

"I didn't ask!" Dean exclaims. "Jesus, I'm still not buying all these angel and Lord crap!"

"Dean," Sam starts with a sigh. "He's telling the truth. What's so difficult with finding out there are angels? There are demons, Dean!"

"Well, you're free to believe him, Sam. I don't friggin' care! As for me? I don't. So if you want me to get on board all this Christian nonsense, you're gonna have to do better than giving me a light show."

Castiel's focus remains zeroed on him, and Dean tries to stand straighter under his scrutiny. Like he'll let some unknown guy—_creature_ intimidate him. Either Castiel gets the hell out or Dean does that for him and gank his ass.

"You don't have faith," Castiel says in realization. He's not a bit offended by Dean's words. If anything, he looks like he's trying to understand Dean's points from the perspective of a human. "Why, Dean? Is it so hard to believe that good things do happen? That they can happen to you as well?"

Dean flinches and turns his attention elsewhere. It's not—No. There are more glaring things that are worth calling attention to and one of them is Sam barging in with John Constantine who claims he's a freaking angel. It's not about the question of Dean's faith at all nor is it whether he's someone who deserves to be saved.

"Then why me, huh? Of all the people, why me? Alright, I've saved some people but I figure that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. I'm just a regular guy!"

"You're not," Castiel answers. "Certainly not to us nor God. It's our Father who commanded that you be saved, and I am only a follower of his orders."

Dean refuses to step back when Castiel approaches him closer, and, wow, okay, so angels don't have a sense of personal space, is that it?

"But if it's all the same to you, we brought you back because we have work for you." Castiel's eyes flitter to Sam. "And you as well, Sam."

Ah, there it is, the catch.

Dean snorts. "You could have started with that."

Castiel retreats, quiet in contemplation. He seems to have noticed an err in his behavior though he doesn't apologize. Dean has the impression that angels—if they are indeed true—are dicks in general and not just Castiel.

"There is a press for time, but I'll allow you the rest of the day to take in what I said and to… accept my kind's existence," Castiel says. "I'll return tomorrow."

He's gone without further ado, vanishing into thin air in front of them and with the sound of flapping giant wings after him. Dean takes a minute to compose himself before he whirls to Sam.

"Talk. Now."

* * *

**tbc**


	4. Questions and Answers

"Cas pretty much told you everything. What else do you want me to say?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sammy. For starters, how about you tell me how you are even sure it's him who pulled me out of Hell."

"I told you; Ruby told me that it wasn't a demon," Sam reminds him. "And, really, Dean? You and I ganked a lot of them so I think the last thing they would do was to let you walk free from their territory without a scratch."

"Why should we even believe that bitch in the first place?"

"And why shouldn't we?" Sam reasons. "What was the purpose if Ruby lied to me while I killed her?"

"I don't know!" Dean exclaims, too agitated to see Sam's point at the moment. "I don't know what to believe, Sam."

"Then believe in me," Sam says, almost pleading. "Trust me when I say that it was Castiel, an angel, who pulled you out of Hell. He's on our side, Dean, and I trust him."

"You only know him less than twenty-four hours and you already trust him." Dean scoffs. "Unbelievable. No wonder Ruby got into your head that easy."

It's too late to get the words back when Dean sees Sam flinching. Doesn't matter. Dean has to get it out of his system. There's still that overdue talk about Sam working with Ruby and drinking demon blood for fuck's sake.

"Yeah, that's on me, and I'll forever regret trusting her," Sam says, not looking away. "But Cas… Cas is on our side, Dean. You have to give him a chance."

Dean doesn't understand why Sam feels strongly about this. Sam is the scholar between the two of them—he's the one who is supposed to be more skeptical in this subject.

"Look, I don't want us to argue about this because we'll have more pressing issues at hand later."

"Pressing," Dean repeats, fixing his jaw. "You mean that Apocalypse that you told us yesterday."

"That one," Sam confirms, getting ready to leave. "If you need proof that it's about to start, just check the news for any odd incident like freak storms, cattle mutilations, or anything along the lines." Sam pauses. "If you don't want to believe me, then you'll hear it from Bobby. By the time we get there, I'm sure he already sees the news."

Well, that's one way to make Dean feel ridiculous. Hell, it's not Sam that he distrusts but rather his judgment. Dean knows how much Sam wants to make it right, and the thing about his brother is that he always has good intentions.

"You said the demons are now working to free… the Devil," Dean says, struggling with yet another concept he can't seem to properly wrap his mind on, although he's less skeptical with the existence of the Devil himself than, say, God, after Sam told him of Lilith's plan of grooming him for the Judgment Day. "We need to stop them quickly, or at least put a stopgap to their plans until we have a surefire way of killing them permanently aside from the single demon knife between us. It'll be just you, me, and Bobby against a bunch of those pricks, but at least we know what we're dealing with."

"They have to break 66 seals to free Lucifer from the Cage," Sam states. "They're done breaking the first one."

"Already?"

"Yeah. It happened while you're in Hell." Sam hesitates to momentarily collect himself. Dean was suddenly assaulted with the sense of dread that he didn't know was creeping up to him. "Dean, the first seal to open Lucifer's Cage is the Righteous Man spilling blood in Hell," Sam says in almost a whisper.

Sam lets the sentence hang oppressively until it wears down on Dean when the understanding dawns on him.

"You mean that's me?" Dean asks thickly. He has to be sure goddamnit!

Sam's weak nod seals the deal, and Dean doesn't know whether to laugh at the irony.

It's him. It was Dean who unknowingly broke that first fucking seal like it was the only shit he broke down there. Like he didn't break a piece of himself that was already broken when he first picked up that blade to inflict pain to another soul.

Dean doesn't remember the exact moment it happens, but the twisted memories from below are starting to come back to pull the rug underneath him.

He might be back topside without any superficial harm in his person, but his experience in Hell, muddled they might be in his mind right now, will be forever carried by his body and soul. He'll never heal from those, and while Dean initially believes he can manage them in time, it's not the worst thing he realizes.

Dean was saved when he didn't deserve it.

* * *

Dean hates the silence when they drive back to Sioux Falls.

Sam checks on him intermittently though not speaking any more of the subject. The quietness only serves to let that ugly revelation stew inside Dean like a gnawing pit. Sam stops Bobby immediately upon their arrival, knows of the questions about to escape him and the findings he wants to share with them. Bobby doesn't ask any more questions when Dean went to turn himself early for the night.

Dean tosses and turns on the cushion. He's unable to sleep even after Sam hits the sack and Bobby finally goes upstairs. Dean chalks the restlessness to the eventful day. It should be enough to wear him down, he thinks as he stares at Sam already sleeping on the floor.

Except, aside from the knowledge that he's the cause of this Apocalypse upon them, there's a nagging thing there that his brother is not quite the same.

Dean doesn't completely understand where it might come from, but he thinks… he thinks Sam changed. His mind is too full to pinpoint the discernable changes he notices, and what he gets are questions upon questions without answers.

Dean wishes that for once, he gets a clear straightforward answer.

* * *

Dean sits up when he senses another conscious presence.

There's a silhouette of a man in Bobby's kitchen and it isn't Bobby standing there by the counter.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says like it's perfectly normal to enter someone else's house without permission.

Whatever. Dean is too high-strung to deal with Castiel and teach him the intricacies of human manners. And fuck it, he's mentally exhausted and decides to give Castiel the benefit of the doubt at least for tonight.

"You again," Dean greets back flatly. "The angel. Messenger of God with the wings and halo, the whole nine yards. And I thought you guys look like babies."

Castiel frowns at him in confusion. "We carry out God's words, but we're more warriors of Heaven," he corrects. "We do not have a halo, a common misperception of humans about our kind, nor do we look like infants. You might be referring to the cherubim."

"How are those different then?"

"A cherub is a fledgling, a young angel. An infant, if you will," Castiel says. "They're approximately as small as the size of your vehicle."

Dean snorts. "Right. Small."

"They are," Castiel insists. He tilts his head and spots an asleep Sam. Castiel purses his lips and under the dim lighting of Bobby's kitchen he meets Dean's eyes. "But you didn't call me to ask this. You have meaningful questions."

"I didn't call—Never mind." At this point, Dean doesn't care how Castiel finds out. "Let me get straight to the point. Was I the Righteous Man who broke the first of the 66 Seals?"

"Yes," Castiel replies without any hesitation. "I see that Sam told you."

"He did. Brutal honesty by his standards which is a surprise." Dean smiles wryly. "Why did you pull me out of Hell, Castiel?"

"I told you: God commanded it."

"But aren't the bunch of you on the side of Heaven? Of the good people? Why did you bother with a single man who hurt someone down there just to save his skin? That kind of act, doesn't that go against your values?

"If you started by telling me that I have a job to do as retribution to what I did, I would have accepted that more. I don't need the sugarcoat of 'good things can happen to you' crap because that's not how it works. That's not how it works for me."

Castiel doesn't answer, though if Dean is to look through the darkness he won't miss the semblance of understanding that crosses Castiel's features.

"I was tasked to raise you from Hell because you didn't belong there," he says simply.

"How do you know that? Did you ever think that maybe if I was left there any second longer, I would turn into one of them? Maybe I have it all along in me, some kind of darkness I wasn't aware of until I'm faced with a difficult choice."

"If you do have it, I think I'll be the first to know," Castiel replies. "Despite Hell an uncharted territory even for me, my retrieval of you was swift. I found you quickly among the damned, among the tumultuous corrupted souls because you stood out from them like a bright beacon of light. You spilled blood, but it was not something that you revel on. You punish yourself for it by thinking you don't deserve to be saved."

A retort is ready at the tip of Dean's tongue because what right does Castiel have to presume? Except Dean thinks Castiel hits right at home and any refute will be pointless.

"And I suppose you're an expert in telling," he mutters.

"Quite the contrary," Castiel admits to Dean's mild surprise. "I confess that amidst my fulfilling of duties to Heaven, I've almost forgotten about the man residing with me in this vessel, the person who owns this body. I only remembered Jimmy when you brought him up, and it gave me an idea to consult him how to further approach you. He was the one who told me that you might need reassurance that I saved you not only because it was necessary but it was right. He also pointed out that I lacked in tack when I revealed myself to you and that your reaction was perfectly understandable." Castiel blinks. "He called me a baby in a trench coat."

Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. "Jimmy knows what's up. I don't know about the baby part but it does make you look ridiculous in that getup for a 'Warrior of Heaven'," he allows. "Tell me, how do the two of you work if he's still in there?"

"I keep him in a safe space while he lends me his body," Castiel tells him. "He used to be asleep most of the time, but he's awake longer today especially when I asked for his advice. I should speak to him more."

"You said that as an angel the possession works differently from a demon's," Dean says. "You should let Jimmy take over sometimes."

Castiel inclines his head. "I'll… I'll think about it. Jimmy will like that."

Dean supposes that's the best he can get.

"I will come back tomorrow in the morning," Castiel says. "We'll start discussing how we will all proceed. I promise to come alone, tell your brother that as well." He moves towards Dean. "Rest for now, Dean, continue to sleep."

"I can't," Dean answers. "Why did you think I noticed your arrival immediately?"

"Because I want you to," Castiel responds and looks at Dean like it should be clear already. "You're already sleeping, Dean. We're in your dream."

He reaches for Dean's forehead and gives it a light tap of his finger. Dean feels like his balance is toppled over and he falls back to the couch he's originally lying on, dozing off.

* * *

Dean wakes in the morning without forgetting what he and Castiel talked about. He's a little better, and his mind a bit clearer.

Somewhere in there, he thinks he's developing a semblance of respect for the angel who raised him from perdition.

* * *

**tbc**


	5. Crossing Paths

An AU of the flashback featured in Season 7 Episode 03 "The Girl Next Door".

* * *

**Lincoln, Nebraska 1998**

Sam scratches his head for the umpteenth time and puffs out an annoyed sigh. He chucks the worn Japanese Dictionary back to his backpack and thinks he won't be able to finish the translation in time.

_People are dying,_ Dad and Dean say as they reiterate that they need to know a solution to kill the _kitsune_ they're hunting. Fast. As if Sam doesn't know the gravity of the situation at hand.

They tend to put him in the sidelines, which Sam often finds for the best since he doesn't really see himself having the same vocation to hunting the same way Dean is, but it also means that they frequently belittle his efforts in research. They don't do the same to Uncle Bobby because he's equally good as a field hunter and, oh, Uncle Bobby's an adult with experience.

Sam isn't like Uncle Bobby because he's a fifteen-year-old.

He slams the untranslated Japanese book close and curses at the bad weather that won't even let him reach the public library dry along with the old books he can no longer fit in his threadbare bag. Sam waits under the shed for the rain to let up—which clearly isn't about to happen anytime soon.

Sam clutches the books on his lap, curling his wiry frame to himself and completely misses the person who sits beside him.

What alerts him is the scent of lavender that pervades the air and rises above the petrichor.

Sam turns to his left and finds a woman with long, braided, red hair and wearing a navy blue dress.

That first thing Sam actually notices is that she's really, really, pretty.

Sam suddenly feels self-conscious. His last shower was from yesterday, and he often sweats under the flannel Dean outgrew. He's carrying a body spray, but he's aware he doesn't smell that great right now. Maybe if he edges further to the side, he'll be in some considerable distance from the pretty lady.

"You don't mind, do you, lad?" she suddenly speaks when she notices Sam distancing himself from her. "You don't mind that I sit here beside you, do you?"

It takes Sam a few seconds to register that she's asking him. "Uh, oh, I don't. I don't mind, ma'am," he fumbles, unable to look up at her straight. "I'm not the owner of this shed."

_I'm not the owner—_Sam is sorely tempted to smack himself senseless in front of her. _I'm being stupid. _

He hears her chuckle and it does something inexplicable to Sam's inside. "I thought so."

It's quiet between them afterward, though, in Sam's mind, it's a race of multiple thoughts such as the woman clearly not a local with her accent; he cannot pinpoint what accent it is but it's attractive; Sam can't stop looking at her; he's not supposed to talk to strangers like Dad and Dean keep reminding him, especially to adult strangers.

"How long have you been waiting here?" the woman asks, effectively cutting through Sam's train of thought.

"Um, not long. Ten minutes at least."

She hums, eyes darting to the books Sam carries. "Going to the library?" At his nod, she squints at the title of the Japanese book from Uncle Bobby sitting on top of the pile. She raises an eyebrow. "A study on _yokai_. Interesting."

"It's for research," Sam quickly excuses. "School, uh—" he pauses. "You can read Japanese?"

"Adequately," she answers with a slight smirk. She reaches for the book. "May I?"

Dumbly, Sam lets her get it and open the cover and turn the pages. She peruses the book delicately, and Sam has instant respect for people who treat books with care.

"Let's see," she mutters, stopping in a single passage. "_Onryō._ Vengeful spirits that can cause physical harm to the living or cause natural disaster to exact their revenge for the wrongs done on them while alive," she reads. "It says here that they can only be stopped by letting them complete their goal or by performing an exorcism. To completely banish the spirit, however, burning and salting the bones of the dead works."

Sam leans closer in interest. He knows about ghosts and the salt and burn, sure; it's the most common thing Dad and Dean hunt. Still, can't hurt to learn more, and the lady has a nice voice.

He shifts in his seat in embarrassment and meekly asks, "Is there a way to keep them away temporarily? Like… salt lines, maybe?"

"Having an issue with an _onryō_, I take it?" she teases with a knowing look. Sam should pull away; it's impossible to concentrate when he's this close to her and even harder to hide his reddening cheeks. She giggles. "It does say here that salt lines or iron can work in a pinch. Either of which or a simple spell."

Sam blinks. "A spell."

She points at a single vertical passage of kanji that Sam doesn't understand one bit. "This line says _umbra, abi_ when translated to Latin."

"'Umbra, abi'," Sam repeats absently. "That will work?" he asks curiously.

"I suppose we'll never know unless we encounter an _onryō_," she says with a slight smile. "Fascinating choice of subject for a paper, though."

Sam catches himself and remembers that he's a fifteen-year-old who thinks these are all fictional. "I'm partial to folklore. Asian in particular," he tells her, which isn't a lie.

"Personally, I'm more into the lesser-known pagan pantheon," she shares. "Eastern lore is all well and good but the sources are very minimal." She looks ahead distantly, reminiscing. "What I know of the Japanese folklore is from a short visit to a colleague who lives in Japan—much better and reliable to learn from a local firsthand."

"Cool," Sam can only say, maybe a bit breathlessly.

He bites his lip, conflicted when he knows what he's going to ask next is a terrible idea, but Dad and Dean say they're pressed for time in finding and killing this _kitsune_.

"Um, I don't mean to further waste your time, ma'am, but I'd be grateful if you can help me with my paper. It's due this Friday and I can barely grasp the basics of _kanji_."

Sam anxiously lies, though in his opinion the apparent nervousness helps with his request especially when she regards him with a critical eye. Her painted lips twitch in amusement and she shrugs.

"I do need to kill some time," she says. "Though I'd hate for these books and papers of yours to be laid open on a mere bench. We need a proper table."

"The public library is a few minutes' walk but not in this weather," Sam says regretfully. "If you do have somewhere to be, it's okay, ma'am."

"Och, hush. I did say I want to kill some time," she shushes him. She inclines her head and Sam has to double-take when he thinks her eyes are purple instead of emerald. "Don't mind the rain, darling boy, it'll let up in a bit."

Sam might have focused too much on the fact that she called him 'darling' to notice the rain weakening to a drizzle.

"Shall we?"

"Oh. Right." Sam scrambles to gather the books in his thin arms. He stands straight beside her and can't help but note that he'll be taller than her given a few more inches. "Thank you, ma'am."

"If we're going to work together on your paper, I think we can call each other by name, mister…"

"Oh, um, William," Sam lies yet again. He's warned about strangers, but, oh, well, avoiding her seems useless at this point. Sam is unsure whether he's to extend his sweaty palm to her.

She decides for him, holding out her soft dainty hand to him that Sam has to shake for an acceptable length of time. "Call me Rowena, William. A pleasure."

* * *

Sam pretends to need the other passages she reads to him while also taking down notes on some of the creatures featured in the book; Sam figured they might be helpful in the future.

Also, writing down is a good way to keep his attention somewhere else and not on Miss Rowena's captivating eyes that can focus only on the book or Sam—the latter of which is terribly embarrassing.

God, he has to call Dean and ask him how to properly deal with this.

"How is your paper so far?" Miss Rowena interrupts her reading, leaning towards Sam's side of the table. Wisps of her red hair fall down from her shoulder and Sam has to swallow and glance down. "You got everything you need, lad?"

_Keep your head in the game_, Sam reprimands himself. "I only need one last info on a creature. Does it say something about a _kitsune_?"

Miss Rowena jumps to the last few pages of the book, running her finger on a certain page before murmuring an 'aha' under her breath. "_Kitsune. _Literally translates to fox and was believed to be 'witch animals' during the superstitious Edo period. Shapeshifters who could transform into fox-like appearance with long claws and fox eyes when feeding or attacking. The heightened sense of smell also helped with their hunting."

"Does it say how to kill them?" Sam asks. If Miss Rowena notices his peculiar interest in the subject, she doesn't comment.

"The quickest way is to stab it in the heart with a knife," she tells him. "But it says here that they're known predators; therefore, to stab it in the heart, you either empower it or take it by surprise. Setting a trap will make sure you can kill it."

"A trap?"

"The simplest trap requirements are a _shimenawa_ and an _ofuda._ A _shimenawa_ is an entwined rope of two long strips, the length varies on the size of the trap, while an _ofuda_ is a paper charm with a written potent spell on any white paper. When combined, those two are known for purification or indications of sacred space, that's why they're commonly found in a Shinto shrine."

"What is the spell written on the paper?"

"A spell written in _kanji _was the most effective, of course, but back then Latin spells by outlanders also worked," she reads. "They said as short as _hoc capere creatura in_ worked for the paper charm."

Sam scrawls the information and hastily stands. "I'm going to make a call, Miss Rowena. My Dad and brother—they'll want to hear from me. If you'll excuse me?"

He goes to the secluded shelves at the back of the library once Miss Rowena waves him away without any question and nary any confusion. Sam dials Dean's number and relays his findings. He has to repeat it a couple of times to his brother due to the foreign languages involved and the need for Sam to keep his voice low. He gets scowls and shushing from the patrons and the librarian when his volume rises one time. Sam can only roll his eyes.

It's not like he'll be back here again anytime soon.

"Wait, Dean," Sam adds before his brother can cut off the line. "I have… I have a question."

Sam can imagine Dean's eyebrow rising. _"Alright, shoot."_

He won't hear the end of it from Dean later, but, hey, no time like the present. "Um—Uh, how do you talk to ladies? Like, a proper talk."

Dean laughs at the other line and whistles. Sam knows it's already a bad idea. "Just stroll up to the girl. You know, introduce yourself. Trust me, girls your age are more flattered with upfront honesty."

"That's the thing, it's not a _girl_." Sam hears Dean take a pause. "I told you, a _lady._"

_"What's the difference?"_

"It's an older woman, Dean!" he hisses.

_"Older—oh, oh! Like a college girl?"_

"I don't know. Maybe?" Though Miss Rowena looks like she's out of college already. Sort of like a young teacher probably. "She's older than me… than you."

Dean is uncharacteristically quiet. _"Sam, forget it. She's way too old for your game. I don't know, what's so hard with picking someone your age?"_

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean is making Sam think it's too weird. Like Dean doesn't check out older women as well despite them mostly treating him like a 'cute little boy' as one college girl told him.

In fact, it's not like Sam is blind to his peers. He did spot one earlier upon their arrival to the library: tall, blonde, pretty but solemn face, arresting but suspicious eyes…

Not enough to take his attention completely from Miss Rowena, though. Miss Rowena who's also smart and mesmerizing.

_"Okay, that's enough, Romeo. I get it," _Dean interrupts. _"Geez, that bad, huh? And before you ask, yes, you said that aloud."_

Sam's cheeks reddened. Fortunately, he's away from Miss Rowena. "Yeah. Whatever."

_"Oh, Sammy. Look at you, having a crush. Doesn't matter how old she is. It's normal. Remember when I told you the first girl I liked was a librarian? I always have a thing for glasses since then."_

"Eugh. Don't remind me. You won't shut up about it."

Dean laughs. _"Then you also have a free pass to not shut up about this lady of yours. We'll talk once Dad and I are done with this_ kitsune_. Later, Sammy."_

They won't be done for another two hours at least, meaning Sam has that amount of time to kill.

"My Dad and brother won't pick me up until another two hours," he tells her when he returns to his seat. "Thank you, Miss Rowena, for the help. I took up your time already. I'll just wait here for them."

"And you're fine cooped up here?" she asks. "Books are good and all, but we should go out. Have you already eaten?"

Aside from the triple red eye earlier, no. Sam still hasn't.

"Well, let's go then," she says gently at his silence. "I know a place nearby."

* * *

They haven't entered yet but Sam can automatically sense it's too fancy for his taste.

Okay, so it isn't the five-star kind where you have to wear formal attire, but it's close enough. Miss Rowena looks like she fits in here while Sam is totally out of place.

Miss Rowena must have noticed him hesitating. "Something wrong, lad?"

"Nothing, miss," Sam replies unconvincingly. "It's just that, uh, I've never been here. I don't… I might not know which fork to use for which."

Dean says to be honest. He says to girls Sam's age but honesty is an appreciated virtue by almost anyone, Sam believes. He just hoped Miss Rowena is one of them too.

Her face softens imperceptibly and she doesn't raise a stink over it, moving on to a different location with Sam in tow. Sam's partly embarrassed to walk beside her—not because of Miss Rowena but rather he knows he looks like her younger brother or nephew or her kid. They probably look weird to others.

Not to Sam, though, not when Miss Rowena is smiling at him.

It's in a diner that she brought him, and now it's Miss Rowena who looks wildly out of her element. Sam feels bad, but she simply winks at him and he's convinced that she's fine with the place.

They serve veggie burgers and salads, and Sam doesn't hold himself back from them. He has to eat healthy to grow up and fill out his wiry frame. He's short, and it's bad enough that he's thin for his age.

He's very hungry that he forgets he has company.

Miss Rowena merely looks amused and advises Sam to pretend she isn't there.

He's polite enough to not chew when answering her, and that's how it goes for the two of them: asking each other superficial questions back and forth. Sam… Sam never talked to someone like Miss Rowena before, someone who doesn't treat him like a child and respects him if there are some questions he doesn't like to dwell on too much, for example about his mom, though for that topic it's more like he doesn't know what to answer given that Mom died when he was six months old. What he knows of Mary is from Dean. Just Dean.

Miss Rowena tells him that she's been almost everywhere—Asia, Europe, Australia. She's in the States most of the time for work. She doesn't say what she does for a living, and she doesn't ask what his Dad's occupation is. They leave it at that.

"Do you see yourself having the same work as your family?"

Sam stops and considers it. It's a question he frequently asks himself but no answer to. He finds that it gets more complicated the older he grows, that it's not a simple 'yes' or 'no' anymore.

"I don't know," he says truthfully aloud for the first time. "What they do, it's important, but at the same time, I don't think I'll like it in the long run. I'm not even like my brother. He loves what he does because he's capable. He's strong and confident. Unlike me."

"You think you're not up to snuff, is that it?" she asks knowingly. "I won't judge that mindset of yours since it's natural, but if you think you're weak compared to your brother, then I'm going to ask you to stop. Think of it this way: you're not your brother, and your brother is not you. You two are completely different people who have different strengths and weaknesses. You can be strong in mind and spirit, and it's not any less than brawns your brother might have."

Sam quietly takes in her words. It's not often that he gets useful advice from adults. Uncle Bobby does like to educate him in life and in being the de facto researcher of the family, though Sam doesn't often see him. He's taking this now for all its worth.

"Don't rush growing up or you'll end up missing the charm of youth, lad," she tells him. There's a tinge of regret in her eyes that's gone as quick as it appeared. She waves it off with a light-hearted tone when she says, "You might be scrawny and not tall now, but who knows? In a few more years, maybe you'll be a giant."

Sam doubts that, but he's grateful for Miss Rowena's confidence in him.

The hour easily passes between them. Sam thinks it helps that Miss Rowena isn't a skeptic on the subject of the supernatural. She believes in the paranormal to some extent without dismissing the studies on them and Sam's opinion on it as a teenager.

She's wise, intelligent, beautiful, and a good listener. It's no longer surprising that Sam's young heart is gradually slipping down a dangerously steep slope.

It's foolish, but Sam wishes he's born sooner.

And when he receives a call from Dean saying the hunt is done, Sam can't help but think it's unusually quick just when he finds a pleasant company. It's unfair.

"Done, aren't they?" Miss Rowena says with a knowing look.

"Yeah," Sam mutters glumly. "They're on their way. I should get back too."

She nods in understanding, paying for their meal by beating Sam to it, much to his protest of sharing the bill. Sam follows her outside sedately, reluctant to go back.

Outside the diner, there's a parked black car that looks expensive. A man goes out to open the door and it occurs to Sam that it's for Miss Rowena when the man in a suit nods at her.

"My service is here," she says. "I guess this is where we part ways, lad." She sighs wistfully. "Be careful on your way home."

"I'll just go back to the motel we're staying at," he says. "It's not… home, per se," he adds like it's vital that he does. "Take care as well, Miss Rowena."

Miss Rowena stares at him a second longer before leaning down to his level. "I haven't been there myself for quite some time now. My home, I mean. Sometimes, I think I never have one," she tells him sadly. "I'll see you around again, I suppose."

"My Dad moves around with me and my brother frequently so I don't think—"

"I'll let you in a little secret: I once told someone that I would see him in the future and… we did see each other again, in a way," Miss Rowena says. "So I think we'll see each other again too. Probably not soon. Maybe in another month or a year—maybe not for another decade. All I know is that we'll cross paths again."

Miss Rowena is so close that Sam hears his heart beating rapidly in his ears, his chest tightening and his face warming heavily. He's too startled, however, to register that Miss Rowena kisses his forehead in farewell.

"Miss Rowena!" he calls once he catches himself and she's about to enter her car. She waits for him patiently to speak, kind of hesitant to leave. "My name is Sam. Sam Winchester."

Miss Rowena smiles widely, her eyes twinkling and cryptically says, "I know. It's nice to meet you, Samuel."

Sam watches the black car until it's past his line of sight. Miss Rowena leaves, and Sam thinks she unknowingly takes his heart with her.

* * *

**tbc**


End file.
